


Empty The Sky

by girlmarauders



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Community: bandombigbang, F/M, M/M, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:19:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlmarauders/pseuds/girlmarauders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine a world. Not one world, but several. A whole system of worlds, suspended in space, rotating in their endless orbits and populated by billions of humans.</p><p>Welcome to The Home System. Here, humanity has escaped extinction at the price of equality. The world is divided into nine castes and the path of your life is defined by the caste you are born into.</p><p>Michael James Way was born hekima, the intellectual caste of academia. His brother and his father are doctors and Mikey is expected to follow the path of his life as defined by his birth. Conforming to his family’s demands, Mikey sleeps through his days, hoping only to go unnoticed. But a trip off-world soon sends Mikey’s world spinning.</p><p>Deep space has a way of playing tricks on you and life aboard <i>The Fall Out</i> might just be the shock Mikey needs to wake up from the life he’s been sleeping through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> For [misprintify](http://misprintify.livejournal.com/) , who is keeping me sane.
> 
> Written for [bandombigbang 2011 Wave Two](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com//)

**Chapter One** :

 _“_ The castes can be separated into three major categories: the low, the middle and the high. The low castes consist of the orja, tjener, chleb and vysra. As we all know, the orja represent the lowest, a race of sexual slaves. The tjener are manual labourers and the chleb basic servants. The vysra are highly educated servants and the last of the low caste.

The middle castes are the hekima and las maquinas, hekima being the caste of professional academics and las maquinas the caste of artisans and skilled professionals.

Finally, the high caste consists of the soldats, imams and The Lords. The only castes permitted to intermarry, the soldats are our soliders, imams our priests and The Lords our masters and politicians _.”_

 _Chapter 1: The Way of the World_  from  **On The Castes**  by Professor of Anthropology Bradley Moore, The University of Oxford-upon-Cambridge (published 1203).

 

**& &&**

 

When Mikey is six, Gerard is nine. Adults are forever telling Mikey that he is too young to play with Gerard and seem to take great pleasure in asking Gerard if he isn’t too old to still be playing with his baby brother. Mikey and Gerard do not like these adults. Miss Helena has explained to Mikey that while Gerard has reached an age where biting his elders is frowned upon, Mikey is still young enough to get away with it and that she will be glad to make excuses if he would like to bite these adults.

Miss Helena is the only adult that Mikey likes. He is still at that nebulous age when adults seem less like a continuation of the strange process of ‘growing up’ and more like an entirely different species. Him and Gerard worship the ground Miss Helena walks upon.

Mikey’s memories of Miss Helena are slightly skewed by the fact that he was still small when she left and the angle of his memories always takes into account her wide, pumpkin pie face looking down at him, her long dirty blonde hair falling forward over her shoulders.

When Mikey is six and Gerard is nine, Gerard steals a book on anatomy from their father’s library and sneaks it into the nursery. Mikey swings his spindly legs off the edge of his bed, too short to reach the ground. Gerard is not tall either but, unlike Mikey, has grown outwards, expanding as only a middleclass child prone to introspection and bookishness can. He pulls himself up onto the bed next to Mikey, holding the massive book across his lap.

“Look Mikey! Look!” He says, opening to a page at random. It reveals a lion with its lips pulled back in a roar, skin pulled back off the muscles horrifically. Gerard’s chubby child’s finger traces the lines of muscle, almost reverently. Mikey, shocked, pulls his legs up onto the bed and wraps his arms around them.

“Gee, what happened to the lion?” Mikey says, voice trembling. Gerard doesn’t or chooses not to hear the fear of the unknown in his brother’s voice and instead flips the page to show a tiny lion cub rendered perfectly, except for, again, its lack of skin. The figure is meticulously labelled, pointing out major and minor muscles, the varying tissues and arrangements. To Gerard, at nine already keen on following his father’s footsteps into the exalted position of physician, the pictures are nearly holy, exposing a world hidden beneath the skin of every living thing. Mikey, having already begun to develop on his brother’s somewhat similar nervous disposition, sees a dead baby animal. The indirect grief is somewhat compacted by the fact that, only a month previously, Miss Helena had taken them to the zoo and they had seen lion cubs frolicking in their enclosure.

“They drew a picture of it without any skin!” Gerard says, gleefully. He turns, to share his new discovery with his brother, only to find Mikey drawn up, pulling slowly away from the spectre of dead animals. “No, it’s okay Mikey. The lion’s not dead! They just drew a picture of it."

“But how did they know what it looked like?” Mikey asks. Here, nine-year-old Gerard meets an obstacle. He is somehow convinced that no animals were hurt but is too young to understand how grown-ups, with their multitude of strange behaviours, could manage that. Thankfully, he’s saved from explaining.

The door to their nursery swings open and bangs against the opposite wall, pushed open by Miss Helena’s rear end. She bustles into the room, arms overflowing with children’s laundry. Gerard tries to hide the book behind his back, only to be caught in the act as Miss Helena turns.

“Master Way, what are you hiding behind your back?” She asks, setting the folded laundry down gently on Gerard’s empty bed before turning towards him. Gerard looks down sheepishly.

“He’s got a book with dead animals in it,” Mikey says earnestly.

“Mikey!” Gerard screeches. Miss Helena puts her hands on her hips.

“Gerard Arthur Way, stand up right now.” She says sternly. Gerard scruffs the tips of his feet against the floor but stands up eventually, under Miss Helena’s stern glare. The book stills lies open on the bed behind him, turned to the anatomy of lions. Miss Helena’s eyes soften but she still reaches out her hands imperiously, demanding that the book is returned to her. “Where did you get this Gerard?” She asks.

“Father’s library,” Gerard admits slowly. Miss Helena shakes her head.

“What am I going to do with you two, getting into trouble just before the Master and Mistress want you?” She says, throwing her arms up in the air. “At least you haven’t mussed your clothes.”

Gerard self-consciously straightens his small waistcoat.  Mikey does nothing. He isn’t comfortable in the nice clothes he’s supposed to wear when he meets with his parents but he knows better than to play with them like Gerard does.

“Give me the book Gerard,” says Miss Helena. “We’re going to return it and then I’m taking you downstairs,”

Gerard sulkily closes the book and passes it to Miss Helena. She tucks the book under one arm and reaches her free arm towards Mikey, wiggling her fingers playfully and smiling.

“Come along Mikey, you too.” She says gently. Mikey hops off the bed and fits his small hand into hers. Halfway out the door, Miss Helena realizes that Gerard is not following. “Come on Gerard, there’s no use putting it off.”

“Will you tell Father?” Gerard asks, looking at the floor. Miss Helena sighs.

“Not unless he asks.” She says pragmatically. “Now come along.” Gerard sighs and makes a sulky noise, but tucks his chubby boy’s hand into her free one.  She smiles at him graciously but is still forced to tug him along behind her, down the hallway.

“Miss Helena?” Mikey asks.

“Mhm?” She murmurs distractedly. She looks down at Mikey’s upturned face and it is that memory that is locked into his small child’s mind and stays with him for the rest of his life: the memory of Miss Helena’s round, open face framed by dirty blond curly hair. Her face is plain and, while Mikey remembers her as pretty, she is mildly unattractive. Her eyes are slightly wide set, giving her the unfortunate appearance of having suddenly walked into a wall, but as the first woman in Mikey’s heart, she is flawless.

“Why do Mother and Father want to see me and Gerard?” Mikey asks. Miss Helena smiles down at him.

“They just have some news for you. Don’t you worry,” She says. The three of them turn a corner in the small hallway of Gerard and Mikey’s nursery floor and nearly run into Mr. Lokaj, the head butler.

“Miss Helena, why are the children still upstairs?” He asks imperiously. She bobs into a shallow curtsey.

“Sorry sir,” Miss Helena says, looking down respectfully. “They were just up to some mischief, taking a book from the Master’s library. I was bringing them down now, sir.”

Mr. Lokaj sighs heavily.

“I will return the book, Miss Helena. Take the children downstairs or they will be late,” Mr. Lokaj says sternly and takes the book from Miss Helena’s arms. Miss Helena nods but Mr. Lokaj brushes part her without waiting. Miss Helena pushes open one of the servant’s staircases and hurries downstairs, Gerard and Mikey holding tightly to her hands on the treacherous narrow steps.

“Miss Helena?” Mikey asks, as they hurry down the stairs.

“Yes Mikey?” She says, without slowing or looking down. Mikey is too young to hear the worry and exasperation in her voice.

“Why do call Mr. Lokaj sir?”

“That’s the way of the world Mikey. Mr. Lokaj is bonded vysra and chleb respect vysra.” She says simply, without stopping to think. Mikey doesn’t fully understand but before he can ask more questions the door at the end of the servant’s stairs opens and Miss Helena, Gerard and Mikey are propelled into the the main part of the house. The long brown dining room door looms over them. Miss Helena crouches down in front of them, straightening their hair and clothes fussily. “Now, remember what I always tell you, be polite and respect your elders. Your parents want the best for you.”

Gerard pouts. Mikey nods.

“Yes Miss Helena,” He says slowly, Gerard a beat behind him. She smiles at them both.

“Now, go along.” She says, pushing them gently from behind towards the door. The door swings open inward, held open by a servant, and Gerard and Mikey trail in sullenly.

Miss Helena is left in the hallway, standing up against the wall in silence, waiting for her charges to return. Mr. Lokaj comes to wait beside her. She curtsies quickly and he, as her better, only inclines his head.

“You are aware that you’re being let go?” He says. She nods.

“Yes sir. The Mistress gave me my notice a week ago.” She clasps her hands behind her back.

“Do the children know?”

She shakes her head.

“I thought it best to leave that to the Masters.”

“Of course,” Mr. Lokaj says carefully. “Will you be needing any references for your future position?”

“The Mistress has already provided me with one. She was very gracious.”

“You have been the young Master’s nurse for nine years, of course. And the younger Master’s for six,” concedes Mr. Lokaj, with a nod of his head.

Miss Helena smiles happily.

“They’re good boys.” She says.

Suddenly, the heavy dining room door slams open and a small chubby boy runs out, wailing. He collides heavily with Miss Helena’s legs and grabs onto her skirts.

“They’re sending you away! They’re sending you away!” Gerard wails. Mikey, always second, stands in the doorway with tears rolling down his face. Miss Helena quickly crouches down in front of Gerard, gently removing Gerard’s fists from her skirts.

“Gerard Arthur Way,” She says sternly. “Stop that right now, do you hear me?” Gerard nods moodily and stops crying with a sniff. She bends over slightly to kiss his forehead, softening her stern words.. “Gerard, you will go back into that room and apologise to the Master and Mistress this instant.” Gerard turns, dragging his feet, but he squares his shoulders and walks past Mikey into the dining room. The door closes behind him, pushing Mikey out into the hallway. Miss Helena leans forward slightly and crooks her fingers, gesturing for Mikey to come closer.

Mikey folds himself in the space between her arms, latching on for a desperate hug. Three times his size, Miss Helena hugs him back, kissing the top of his head. “I would like it very much if you could be very brave for me and look after your brother while I am gone, Mikey.” She whispers into his ear. Mikey nods carefully into her shoulder. He gives one final hiccup of a sob and then pulls away from her, wiping the tears from his eyes. She smiles tightly, holding back her own tears. “You’re very brave, Mikey.” She says.

“But, Miss Helena, I don’t want to be brave.”

 

**& &&**

**  
**

Mikey keeps his head down. Gerard goes to St. Houston’s, gets his medical degree, graduates top of his class and Mikey gets to watch him do it. Gerard leaves home to do his internship at an ER in Londres and Mikey gets drunk with the punk-kid chleb who works in the kitchen. (Frank is at least four years younger than Mikey. He’s married with twins on the way.)

All Mikey’s friends are low caste, from the chleb servants to the tjener who do the heavy lifting for his father’s practice.

He goes to St. Houston’s, more for tradition’s sake then out of any desire to become a doctor, and throws up on his professor’s shoes during his first human dissection. He studies hard but there’s nothing pushing him, nothing driving him.

Gerard sends him loving but misguided letters about how ‘fulfilled’ he is now, doing his internship, helping people, and Mikey keeps failing his exams and fainting during his practicals. What was first dismissed as a nervous disposition quickly becomes an annoyance and if Mikey had good looks or charm, he’d be skating through on those alone.

Years of St. Houston’s pass indistinguishably and the twin suns go around Europa and all Mikey does is go to class and study and go to class and write pages and pages of meaningless words on human physiology.

Mikey is 22 when Gerard gets his practice and St. Houston’s finishes up for the summer without event. Mikey goes home.

 

**& &&**

**  
**

Mikey dodges through the shuttle port, bag banging against his hip. The Middle Caste terminal is always crowded with maquina and hekima pushing up against each other and the odd slave or indentured vysra following a master. People of every colour shout every language at each other as Mikey barely manages to force his way through the crowd into his shuttle. He runs his ID card over the scanner at the door and shoulders his way into a tiny space further back from the door. The hover shuttle’s full of commuters heading home for the night, most of them digging out reading pads as soon as they step into the shuttle. Mikey’s reading pad is full of the textbooks he’s supposed to read during the holidays; he can’t move himself to pull it out. Instead, he leans his head against a partition and, standing up, falls asleep.

 

**& &&**

**  
**

Mikey jerks awake, without warning or cause, half an hour later. The shuttle is much quieter now, a young family at the end of the carriage and two older men reading. Mikey is the only one standing and one of the men give him a disapproving look when he chokes on his own breath as he wakes up. The countryside speeds by underneath the shuttle, Mikey only beginning to recognize the land. 

His father’s practice is in Manston, a sizable town well outside Tristate, where St. Houston’s is. Mikey never remembers feeling trapped there as a child but returning now, as an adult, he always feels too big for the town to hold him, like if he lets go he might float away.

He steps out into the quiet bustle of a small shuttle station. Manston’s too small to warrant different stations for castes and chleb and vysra mingle easily with maquina and hekima. Imams and soldats usually have enough protection to discourage any of the lower castes approaching and Manston's ruling Lord hasn't had cause to visit the town since she won a place in the Tristate senate court.

Mikey knows the streets of Manston well, enough to not have to think about finding his way home. It’s a grand building, stone with an imposing doorway and a separate entrance for the low castes. Old Mr. Lokaj’s still opening the door. He takes Mikey’s coat for him and passes Mikey’s bag to a young servant, who quickly scuttles away. Mikey and Mr. Lokaj trade smiles; he’s been with Mikey’s family since before Mikey was born.

“Master Mikey, how was your trip?” says Mr. Lokaj. Mikey shrugs noncommittally.

“It was alright, Mr. Lokaj. How are my parents?”

“Very happy, sir, since your brother’s practice came through. Your mother was very pleased to hear you were returning for the holidays.” Mr. Lokaj folds Mikey’s coat carefully over one arm. Mikey sighs.

“Of course she was.” He says. “Are they in the dining room?”

Mr. Lokaj nods and then tips his head to indicate the large dining room door at the end of the hall.

Mikey shoulders the door open, not bothering to knock. The door’s still difficult for him to move, even after twenty years of growing.

He hates the dining room. It’s ancient, ‘vintage’ his mother says, and dark and cold. The table’s hardwood mahogany and so heavy Mikey hasn’t seen it move in twenty-six years. His parents sit at opposite ends of it and carefully click their cutlery against their china. The hekima are the best of the middle caste, full of old money and pretensions, and Mikey’s parents have always tried their best to live up to their birthright. Mikey’s never been able to do it very well.

His mother looks up the moment the door opens and purses her lips when she sees Mikey.

“Good Afternoon Michael,” she says seriously, inclining her head as a hello. Mikey’s already starting to tense up, grinding his teeth together.

“Hello Mother,” He says and then turns to his father. “Good Afternoon Father.” He says, bowing slightly at the waist as he's been taught.

“Michael!” His father says with false joviality, rising to his feet and extending his arms to his son. “Give your old man a proper hello. How is St. Houston’s? Still the same?”

Mikey steps over, putting his arms around his father awkwardly. 

“School’s been alright, father. Nice to come home for the holidays.” He says, barely politely. His father claps him on the back, hard, and laughs.

“Good to have you back son!”

“Especially with Gerard away in Aberdeen. It will be so nice to have one of our sons home for the holiday,” says his mother. Mikey frowns.

“I didn’t know Gerard’s practice was so far out on the rim.” Mikey says, surprised. Identical frowns fall onto his parents’ faces.

“Yes, it was quite a surprise.” His father says seriously, sitting down again. “But you know Gerard, always the bleeding heart. Your mother and I are both very proud.”

“Please Michael,” his mother says. “Sit down, have dinner with us. You must be hungry, after your journey.”

Mikey has to make small talk for another half an hour, about his school mates and his classes. There’s never much to tell and he runs out of material quickly. His father tell stories about his first practice, as if Gerard will make the same mistakes as he did. After dinner, Mikey makes clean his escape to the guest room. His bag sits at the bottom of the bed, left by the servants.

The house at night is never quiet. There’s always a servant padding past a door or a lower caste slave moving down a hallway. It’s the type of noise that Mikey has always found comforting. He grew up with servants and slaves moving in and out of his nursery all night and when he got older, his tutor slept in the room next door.

His parents sleep on the floor below, so he doesn’t have to be careful when he slides out of the guest bedroom door. He’s only quiet on the way to the main servant’s room out of deference to the day servants who are sleeping in the halls around him.

The main servants’ room is in a back corridor, far from anywhere guests could find it. It’s barely bigger than a broom closet but there’s already four servants squeezed into the tiny space, playing cards. Mr. Lokaj’s dealing.

“Ah, Master Mikey!” Mr Lokaj says, trying to rise to his feet. Mikey waves him back down. Mr. Lokaj’s too old to go jumping up and down every time the younger son enters the room. He gets dealt in quickly. The other servants are all older ones that Mikey recognizes from his childhood. His father’s favourite dresser, an elderly cook from the kitchens and the man who taught Mikey how to work a communications rig when he was eight.

They play cards for a few hours, the servants catching Mikey up on the household gossip. Mikey plays badly, as per usual, and looses awfully to Missus Amry, from the kitchen. It’s only on the last hand, Mikey loosing again, that Mr. Lokaj lays down his cards and says: “You have been causing the household a bit of worry lately, Master Mikey.”

“I’m sorry?” Mikey say, slightly confused.

“St.Houston’s sent its grades home. Your parents received yours yesterday.” Ernie, the house’s electrical man, says, leaning back and throwing his cards down. Mikey grimaces.

“Shit.” Mikey says. “I guess they weren’t pleased, were they?”

There’s a round of head shaking and worried frowns.

“The Master and Mistress spoke together very seriously in the Drawing Room right after. I’m not one to spread idle gossip, but one of the serving girls said they spoke of sending you away.” Mr. Lokaj says gently, not looking Mikey in the eye. Mikey shuffles his cards nervously.

“They didn’t say anything at dinner.” Mikey says worriedly.

“Your parents did miss you Master Mikey,” Missus Amry says gently. “They wouldn’t have wanted to start a fight the day you came home.”

Mikey snorts.

“No, they’ll just start a fight tomorrow over lunch,” He says grumpily, massaging his temples.

Missus Amry frowns and carefully steers the conversation away from Mikey. The card game goes on until the wee hours of the morning, when Mikey loses completely and utterly for the final time. Mr. Lokaj insists on walking Mikey to his room and opening the door for him, which has always made Mikey feel silly, people opening and closing doors for him, but Mr. Lokaj’s a traditionalist.

Mikey sleeps fitfully that night.

 

**& &&**

 

Mikey takes breakfast in his room, partially to avoid his parents and partially because he sleeps until eleven. A serving girl brings him his tray and leaves it beside his bed, giving him a quick smile before she leaves. He smiles back but distantly, and drinks the whole pot of coffee till it’s a semi-appropriate time to brave going downstairs. Mr. Lokaj offered him a dresser but Mikey is perfectly capable of dressing himself in the morning, as long as he’s got coffee in him.

Plus, a dresser would lay out his formal suits for lunch with his mother. Maybe Gerard is comfortable in a doctor’s waistcoat and tie but Mikey likes manifesting his young person’s rebellion by wearing black t-shirts and tight jeans. His mother disapproves of low caste clothes. That’s why Mikey does it.

He feels about 13 years old again as he tries to creep down the stairs into the deserted main hallway. He does have friends in Manston to visit, if only he can get out of the door before his parents see him. The servant at the door won’t rat him out, and even if he does Mikey will be on the other side of town by the time his parents think to ask the servants. He really does feel 13 again.

He can hear the murmur of his parent’s voices in the drawing room, his mother’s soft alto and his father’s deep tenor. Each step he takes on the hallway’s creaky floor has him wincing and holding perfectly still, hoping his parents haven’t heard. He’s only two, admittedly large, steps away from the door when the door to the drawing room swings open and his mother steps out.

“Doorman, could you please find my son- Oh, Michael, you’re down already. Your father and I were just talking about you, we were hoping you might join us.” It’s not a question, although Mother phrases it like a request. She’s not requesting anything, simply demanding the presence of her youngest wayward son. Mikey bows his head and shuffles forward, trailing after his mother into the drawing room.

“Michael, please, sit down.” says his mother. Mikey sits, putting his hands under his thighs to stop himself from fidgeting. His father sits in a big, wing-backed chair, hands lying flat on the armrests. His mother seats herself on the edge of one of the lounge chairs, folding her hands in her lap demurely. The drawing room was furnished with elderly guests in mind. It’s where his father takes his patron Lords or tells families sad, terrible news. Mikey suspects he’s about to get some terrible news

“Now, Michael, we don’t want to go about this the wrong way. You’re a grown man now and we do trust you. But your mother and I,” Here, Mikey’s father takes a moment to look across at his wife and their eyes meet momentarily. “Well, your mother and I both believe that you, well, you just aren’t applying yourself in your studies and it’s being reflected in your grades at school.” He pauses and Mikey’s mother quickly chimes in.

“The grades you receive today will determine what you can accomplish later in life, Michael.” She says earnestly, leaning forward in her seat.

“Your Mother and I are both concerned, that’s all. And we want you to find a profession you enjoy. At the moment you could end up a pharmacist.” The disgust, when his father mentions the word ‘pharmacist’, is clear. Mikey frowns. Mikey’s mother makes a quick movement with her hand, as if brushing away the very possibility that her youngest son could end up a pharmacist. Mikey nods along, not chancing anything on a disagreement.

“We just feel, Michael, that you’ve lost your focus.” says Mother gently. She looks across at Mikey’s father. “and your father and I spoke to your brother and thought that maybe it would help you to work with him during the holidays.”

Mikey frowns deeply and hunches over.

“Why would Gerard want me?” Mikey asks seriously, avoiding eye contact.

“Well, your brother is a very talented doctor and very passionate about his job. We thought that working with him might remind you of what you are working towards in your studies.” Mikey’s mother says earnestly.

Mikey shrugs.

“I suppose so,” He says doubtfully. His father nods, hearing only what he wants to hear in Mikey’s barely-there acceptance.

“We’ve already prepared a small allowance for you, to help you on your way to Aberdeen.” says Mikey’s father. “You’ll be travelling on your own, none of the servants can be spared.”

“Get myself there?” Mikey asks.

“We feel an amount of independence will be good for you,” says his mother. “Mr. Lokaj can provide you with the details.”

“We’re very proud of you Michael,” says his father, without a hint of irony. Mikey restrains himself from rolling his eyes. “Mr. Lokaj will help you with the arrangements.”

A long awkward silence stretches out until Mikey realises he’s been dismissed. He bows his head jerkily to his father and then to his mother, leaves the room without looking back. Mr. Lokaj is waiting for him. His bag, barely touched since his arrival only yesterday, sits in the hallway, by the door.

“I’m sorry, Master Mikey,” says Mr. Lokaj quietly. He picks up the bag and, with a slight bow, passes it to Mikey. Mikey smiles ruefully.

“Not that bad, eh, Mr. Lokaj? At least I’m going to Gerard and not a stranger.” Mikey says, trying his best to be positive. Mr. Lokaj meets his wobbly smiles with one of his own.

“Arrangements have been made to provide you with some money on your trip,” says Mr. Lokaj professionally. “A small account was set up to provision you with an allowance every week and there’s a starting amount to pay for your travel to Aberdeen.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lokaj.” Mikey says graciously. Mr. Lokaj leans forward and whispers, almost surreptitiously, to Mikey.

“I’d suggest the New Chicago docks, Master Mikey,” he whispers. “There’s a few serviceable ships there and they won’t swindle you. Nuevo York’s docks are packed with frauds and thieves, sir.”

Mikey smiles.

“Of course, Mr. Lokaj. I’ll be careful.” Mikey says. Of course it is Mr. Lokaj, an old servant, who sees that Mikey knows where to go and how to be safe. His parents are not unloving, only distant and of the belief that children, no matter their age, should be largely self-sufficient. Mr. Lokaj half-bows, as is proper to a younger son, and Mikey squares his shoulder and walks out the front door, held open by the doorman.

 

 **Chapter Two** :

_The Iberian Night Jar Cruiser has two large central ‘wings’ of light-sensitive polyfibre solar panels, designed to provide energy during long-term deep space travel. The wings remove the need to refuel regularly on combustion fuels, allowing Night Jar Cruisers to travel long distances on small amounts of fuel. The wings fold onto the top of the ship when entering, leaving or manoeuvring in atmosphere, at which point propulsion engines engage._

 

From _A Guide To Iberian Cruisers_ by Jones Maggiori

 

The New Chicago docks are unlike anything Mikey’s ever seen before; even the main shuttle port with its melting pot of people can’t compare to the docks. Multicoloured prayer flags flutter in the morning breeze and the sound of a prayer call wails out across the docks from a wobbly, wooden minaret hastily constructed, vaguely to the east. A separate woman’s voice sings Hindi verse in a warbling alto as the first sun begins its early rise.

Still early morning, only a few barkers are trying to attract passengers. Most of them look desperate, clothes hanging off their skeletons as they try, futilely, to attract paying travellers onto their ships. A landless orja stands in the open doorway of an old Bluejay racer and calls out in broken English, hands barely covering her breasts, her naked body on full display.

Mikey turns his eyes away. A snatch of bright colour on the edge of his vision makes him turn and watch a barker at work. The clash of his blue shirt against the brilliant red of his covering jacket makes potential travellers take a first look and his big, horsey smile does the rest.

“Hey there traveller,” He says, waving enthusiastically. Mikey looks around him, expecting to see someone behind him. There’s no one, just some other barkers and ship crew milling around. “Yeah, I mean you!” The barker says playfully, crooking his fingers at Mikey. His smile grows when Mikey looks shocked and steps forward. “C’mon traveller, you want me to tell you about the best ship in the whole system?” He asks, gesturing widely to the ship behind him. The side of the ship reads _The Fall Out_ in long, loopy script. “ _The Fall Out_ , she’s the smoothest flyer since the Migration. She’ll take you wherever you want go without a bump or a jostle, traveller.”

“ _The Fall Out_ ’s an interesting name. The fall out from what?” Mikey asks, taking a step closer. The barker’s smile spreads impossibly wide, showing all his large square teeth.

“You’re a smart one, sir. The fall out from the end of the world, of course. A little bit of armageddon flying through deep space. _The Fall Out_ ’ll be in the air long after we’re both dead and buried. She’ll be flying to the end of these worlds and beyond.” The barker tips his head, tugging on a lock of his well-spiked hair as a mark of respect. Mikey nods back, barely, noticing the black tattoo stripe on the barker’s inner wrist. He’s vysra and marked too, so a long term bond contract. “You got any destination in mind, sir? Any place in particular you headed?” The barker puts his hands in his trouser pockets and leans back casually, waiting for a reply. Mikey puts his weight onto his heels and moves his bag into another hand.

“I’m going to Aberdeen.” Mikey says.

“Well, _The Fall Out_ can take you there, long as you’ve got the greenbacks to fuel her.” The barker says, takes a step back and pats the hull of the ship. “We’ve got the best mechanic to ever walk on a green earth keeping this baby in the sky, the best pilot to ever come out of any academy to make your journey run smoothly. Ain’t a better crew in this system and that’s the truth, sir.”

“How much?” Mikey says, trying not give anything away. The barker’s smile turns almost predatory and he leans forward, taking one hand out of his pocket to rub two fingers together in the universal symbol of greed.

“40 greenbacks up front then another 40 when your feet touch the ground in Aberdeen.” He glances around as if to indicate the other ships. “Won’t find a deal this good in this shipyard, not a green young man like yourself. They’ll take one look at you, young master, and hike the price by 20 of your sweet-smelling greenbacks.” Here, the barker leans back and smiles, losing the predatory edge. “But you’ll see that I’m an honest man off a ship of honest people and we’re not ones to scam a good young man like yourself. I have a feeling you’ll be coming aboard, traveller.”

“Really? You think that?” Mikey asks, feeling a small smile bloom on his face. The barker shakes his head.

“Oh no sir, I don’t think it. I _feel_ it and that’s a whole different story.” The barker smiles his unstoppable smile. It’s infectious. “But c’mon, you won’t be find a better deal in all the docks on Europa, especially not here in Chitown.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Mikey says. “What’s the food and accommodation?”

The barker tugs on a lock of his air again.

“Probably not up to your normal standards sir, but fair enough. You’ll eat what we’ve got, same as the crew does, and sleep in our guest quarters. You can cook if you want, if not you can eat with the crew, which ain’t big, just myself, our captain and our mechanic. You’d be a guest on the ship, no restrictions or harsh rules.”

Mikey nods.

“It sounds reasonable enough to me,” He says with a shrug, putting his hands in his pockets. “ _The Fall Out_ sounds like a ship I’d like.”

“I’m sure she’ll take a fancy to you too, sir,” says the barker, extending his hand. “The name’s Pete, Pete Wentz. I’m vysra aboard our pretty girl here.” He pats _The Fall Out_ ’s hull lovingly. “And what will we be calling you, sir?”

Mikey smiles lightly.

“My name’s Mikey. And you don’t really need to call me sir.”

The barker smiles, close-mouthed, as if holding back a laugh.

“Welcome aboard then, traveller.” He says and then presses a button behind him. A metal door flicks open with the soft whoosh of hydraulics. “Welcome to _The Fall Out_.”

 

**& &&**

 

Mikey’s room is small, but serviceable. There’s a sink and a bed, a small dresser with a mirror on top and a small cupboard with ties to lash things down with. Outside a hallway leads to a small kitchen and dining area. The table’s bolted to the ground, although the chairs aren’t.

Most of the ship, like his room, is small but serviceable. The outside hull is mostly grey, with green plating at parts, and dented in a few places. The only area that seems to have attracted much attention and care is the square name plaque. It’s well polished and shiny, although obviously not new.

The ship’s corridors wind and twist around each other. Some of it feels old, where metal plates flow into wood panels, beautifully smoothed by time. One hallway disintegrates into a metal walkway connected by ladders. The whole ship’s an anachronism, wooden balustrades winding around hard metal staircases and pre-Migration style graffiti painted onto parts obviously only a few years old.

Mikey steps through an automatic hydraulic door, gasping slightly when the claustrophobic hallway opens and widens into a massive cargo bay, three, maybe four, times his height. A man that Mikey hasn’t met and Pete shift cargo, lashing large crates together and tying them to the walls and ground. They’re both small men, although Pete seems more compact, his body more well-defined than the man working with him. He’s slim, slender even, with a shock of wild fly-away hair and pale skin.

Mikey’s shoes click against the floor of the bay lightly and the man looks up quickly, a hand moving suddenly to his hip. His jacket moves and Mikey notices the sheen of dull metal, the shape of a gun, before the man’s hand falls away and the jacket fabric falls back to cover his holster.

“Pete, who’s this?” He asks gruffly, stepping back from the crates. Pete doesn’t look up, just pushes a crate into a corner.

“Mikey’s our new passenger. Going to Aberdeen.” Pete looks up and smiles, nodding at Mikey. “And he’s paying, so be nice.” He says, making a face at the man. He returns the face but Pete has already turned away. Mikey feels his manners kick in and extends his hand.

“My name is Michael Way,” he says. The man reaches out and clasps his hand.

“Patrick Stump. I captain this hunk of junk, and fly it too.” He says, before dropping Mikey’s hand. “Pete get you set up in your room alright?”

“Yes, thank you Captain.” Mikey says. Patrick waves a hand dismissively.

“Isn’t much need to be calling me Captain. There’s only the three of us crew on board, not much need to be treating me special.” He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and looks around the bay thoughtfully. “We’re nearly done closing up here, taking the last of our cargo on. I was hoping we could get moving out early. Won’t be too much of a problem, will it?”

Mikey shakes his head.

“I’ve stored my things already. I didn’t have much.”

Patrick nods.

“Alright.” He says and turns to look at Pete. “Pack it up here, Pete? I’ll be in the cockpit.”

Pete shoves another crate, waving a hand over his shoulder.

“Yeah yeah, go fly our ship.” He says, back turned.

“Our ship? I think you mean _my_ ship,” Patrick shouts, but he’s already half way up a series of steps leading out of the bay. Pete doesn’t dignify it with a response, just sets a smaller crate into an opening and ties it down. When he stands up, he bends backward, cracking his back and turning from his waist to look at Mikey.

“C’mon, you should come up. I’ll show you the cockpit. Patrick’ll shut himself up in there for days if we let him.” Pete says. Not waiting for Mikey to follow, he starts climbing the same set of steps Patrick used. Mikey is forced to take the steps at a jog to catch up. Pete smiles at him when their eyes meet. “You ever been off-world before, traveller?” He asks. Mikey shakes his head.

“No, never. This is my first time.” Mikey says quietly.

“Well then, you’ll love this. Deep space for the first time? Feeling like no other, I’m telling you.” Pete says excitedly. He bounces when he walks, like a child.

 

**& &&**

 

The cockpit is dominated by an entire wall of windows. The glass shows the New Chicago dockyards and beyond, into New Chicago itself. The Eisner tower dominates the skyline, although the spires of a few of the great houses press upwards towards the grey-pink sky of early morning.

Patrick sits in a large pilot’s chair, a large console spread out in front of him and a steering wheel on a flexible arm hanging over the side of the chair. A flight visor hangs around his neck.

“NC docks, this is Nightjar Registered _The Fall Out_ , A673D, requesting flight permission.” Patrick dictates into the visor’s microphone.

“ _Fall Out_ , you are clear for take off. Safe flight, Captain.” Says a tinny voice over the channel followed by a steady beep before Patrick terminates the connection. Mikey takes a seat on a bench behind the console although Pete stays standing, grabbing a handle on the wall. Patrick flicks some quick switches and grabs the wheel. Something rumbles deep in the ship, the whole ship shaking lightly, and Mikey grabs his seat nervously. “Alicia, can I have a little thrust, I’m hoping for some smooth today.”

“Not gonna happen. I do what I can, lover boy, but don’t expect miracles. I’m all out of them today.” Says a woman’s voice, husky over the intercom. Patrick smiles, all teeth.

“Just do your job ‘licia. Won’t be needing any miracles today.” Patrick drawls, pulling up at the wheel.

“Here’s hoping,” says the woman, before the intercom cuts off in a hiss of static. Pete swings from his hand, rolling forward on the balls of his feet.

Suddenly everything shifts. The floor is suddenly pointing upwards, the floor rattles, hard, like the entire ship is being shaken by a large fairytale giant and then, with a muffled thump, the ship explodes off the ground and into the sky. Air whooshes past them in a great roar. The great wall of pink and grey sky rockets toward them. Mikey feels like the cockpit should not be shaking as much as it is.

With a great bang, _The Fall Out_ bursts out of the atmosphere and into space. The deep blackness fills the windows, peppered with a few blinking stars. The whole great expanse of it, without a person, ship or world in sight, is awe-inspiring. Mikey feels small, tiny, confronted with the whole great universe. He feels himself rise to his feet as the ship’s journey flattens out and the cockpit stops shaking. He takes a small step forward, towards the wall of windows, so beautifully filled with open sky.

“It’s beautiful.” He says, voice filled with awe. Patrick pulls his flight visor up over his eyes and pushes the wheel out of his chair, leaning forward towards the console to work. Pete turns and smiles at Mikey.

“It is, isn’t it?” Pete says, brightly happy. He sighs. “Feels good to be back in the sky. We were on dirt for too long this time, ‘Trick.”

Patrick hums and nods in agreement, but doesn’t speak. The ship banks left on his command and Mikey is forced to sit down when the floor tips. He smiles to himself.

“It really it is beautiful.” He says.

 

**& &&**

 

Mikey likes getting to know the ship. He’s the only paying passenger – aren’t many people with a pressing need to get to Aberdeen – and he’s largely left to himself. Exploring the long hallways becomes his hobby, the only way to pass the time of long, indistinguishable days of space travel.

He spends a few days luxuriating in the freedom of it. With no responsibilities on board, he sleeps when he wants, eats with the crew, reads, spends his days in the cockpit with Patrick or in the cargo bay with Pete.

He doesn’t meet the ship’s mechanic for the first couple of days. Pete says she sleeps with the engine most days, especially since they just had engine repairs done.

They meet at dinner, the first time Patrick’s managed to work the crew’s schedules to get them all a meal together. Mikey’s surprised when Patrick cooks. He’d been expecting Pete to cook, as the lower caste. As far as Mikey can tell, Pete doesn’t do much of what vysra usually do. He does some heavy lifting in the cargo bay but he seems to spend a lot of time painting the hallways (the pre-Migration graffiti is his) and doing odd jobs.

Alicia only joins them last minute, running into the dining room and grabbing a chair.

“Sorry, sorry, I know I’m late.” She says, hands in the air. “The operating board was glitching and I got distracted trying to fix it, I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you’re sorry,” Patrick grumbles sarcastically. “I make a nice dinner for us all and you can’t even show up on time, god.”

Pete and Alicia roll their eyes in tandem and Mikey snorts when he sees.

“Is someone grumpy after all that time in cockpit?” Pete teases playfully. Patrick sticks his tongue out.

“God, you two are like four year olds. Remind me why I let you cook my food again?” Alicia asks, reaching into the middle of the table to grab food.

“Because you can’t cook to save your damn life?” Pete asks, mouth full of food. Alicia flipped him off, noticing Mikey in the process.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think these degenerates introduced us. I’m Alicia. I try and make sure we don’t fall out of the sky.” She reaches across the table to clasp Mikey hand. She’s got a firm grip, not too tight or too lose but steady enough. She smiles at him, wickedly, although it looks natural on her face, and drops his hand with a half-nod. “Sorry for not saying hi earlier but I’ve been busy.”

“I don’t know how I survive, her and Patrick shutting themselves up with their work. I’m starved of human companionship.” Pete says. Bread crumbs fall out of his over-stuffed mouth.

“I love you like a brother Pete, but you are disgusting.” Alicia says, wrinkling her nose. It’s cute.

 

**& &&**

 

Mikey spends half the day trying to find the engine room, wandering through the seemingly endless hallways of _The Fall Out_. It’s a Nightjar Cruiser, designed for deep space travel and many passengers. It certainly wasn’t designed for a crew of three and one passenger. It’s impressive that Patrick, Alicia and Pete have kept it in the sky.

Alicia finds him studying a hardwood inlay in what appears to be a cupboard door. _The Fall Out_ confuses him, functional and beautiful, with decorations added where there’s no need for them.

“Last owners had a fondness for pretty things.” She says, making Mikey nearly jump out of his skin. He hadn’t heard her walk up on him.

“What?” He asks, only slightly embarrassed by the way he squeaks. She shrugs.

“Last people to own our lady here liked prettying her up, mainly pre-Migration style things. They liked the wood and the old stylely things. They couldn’t sell it commercially, after all the modifications, so Patrick got it for a bargain. Pete loves it, spends his time adding to it.” She says, leaning against the wall. Mikey reaches out to touch the inlay.

“It certainly is beautiful.” He says, to agree. She crosses her arms, not unhappily.

“Were you looking for any one place in particular or where you just wandering?” She asks, raising her eyebrows.

“I was actually looking for the engine room. I’ve never seen one before.”

 

**& &&**

 

The engine's room dark and dank and noisy. Alicia seems to be able to find her way without looking, swinging absently between turbines and clanking mechanical parts. Mikey seems what looks like a small bed, more like a pile of blankets, in the back, tucked under a cooling panel.

"You have a room, don't you?" He asks quickly, nodding towards the bed. Alicia looks over her shoulder, away from where she's fiddling with a part.

"Oh yeah," She says absently. "I sleep here sometimes, when things are iffy. If something's broke, I can't be the other side of the ship when it needs fixed."

Something clanks loudly in one of the engines and Alicia flips open a grate to fiddle. Mikey turns to look at the walls of the engine room. They're dark red, like rusted metal, but someone's taken the time to paint long lines of flowing script across the walls in black ink. He reaches up to touch what looks like one phrase, tracing the curves of it

"This isn't English is it?" He asks quietly. Alicia looks up from a whirring engine and shakes her head. 

"It's Arabic." She says. He hums. 

"You speak Arabic?"

She smiles softly, looking over his head as remembering something far away.

"I was born on Mecca and Medina." She says. "I didn't learn English until school."

"Oh," Mikey says gently. He runs his finger through the shapes of the letters. "What does it say?"

She moves to stand behind him, then reaches over his shoulder to move his hand to the other end of the word. Her hand feels warm and careful over his, guiding his fingers to trace the words from left to right.

"In Arabic, we read from left to right." She says.

"What does it say?" He asks, when their joined hands reach the end. 

"Allah akbar." She says, her lips forming the foreign sounds in almost a whisper. "God is great."

"You believe?" He asks. Back home the imams aren't priests much anymore, more politicians and merchants. She shakes her head; he can feel the movement through his arm and shoulder. She pulls her hand away. 

"No. My family wasn't Muslim. But when you live somewhere where everyone believes, it becomes a part of you. You can't go to the mosque in High Casablanca during Ramadan and see thousands of people praying, all together as one, and not have that become a part of you." She says slowly, pausing to find the right words often. He hadn't been able to hear it before but now he can hear the accent, the way 'Muslim', 'Casablanca' and 'Ramadan' all sound slightly foreign and exotic in her mouth.

Mikey moves his hand to gesture at the other phrases, painted gracefully across the walls. 

"What do the rest say?" He asks. She shrugs. 

“Other things, things for luck. Asking God to smile kindly on us, to help us choose the right path. Some prayers, some poetry.” She smiles wryly. “Pete’s got his art. Patrick makes music in his spare time. We all find ways to stay sane.”

Mikey sees an ink brush and pot lying on top of a generator.

“Could you show me how to write like that?” He asks. Suddenly realises what he’s asked, he blushes. “I mean, if you’re not busy and you don’t mind that is.”

She smiles.

“I’d like that.”

 

 **Chapter Three** :

_Hekima, as the word we know and understand today to mean the middle caste of academics, was born pre-Migration as a word meaning ‘wise’. The secondary middle caste, las maquinas, comes from a similarly ancient word to mean ‘the machines’, possibly stemming from las maquinas history as a mechanic’s guild._

From _The Wise Men: A Study of the Middle Castes_ by Dr. Nadia J. Huang

 

The ship settles into a rough pattern. Mikey wakes and walks to the cockpit in what he assumes is the morning; it’s hard to tell when ‘outside’ consists of endless miles of dark space. He and Patrick say hello, make small talk and Patrick talks over their course. Mikey likes to fiddle with the communication rig in the cockpit. He learned communication tech on an ancient rig when he was still a kid and the _Fall Out’s_ old system is familiar and comforting. Broadcasts from all over the system come through the rig on the central channel. Some of it’s just nonsense, coded messages for military vessels or the security forces, and some of it’s news-sheets or personal messages. A hundred different languages jabber away on the central channel. The work of separating languages bands is soothing, if repetitive, and Mikey likes the musical sound of the non-English languages.

Pete comes up to the cockpit, to drag Mikey away from the rig, and they’ll find a job to do. Mikey’s learning a lot about pre-Migration graffiti and murals, as Pete has a new project going in the disused crew’s quarters. He likes words, Pete, and he’s got a way of turning a phrase to sound beautiful. Mikey understands why he barks; there’s an understated charisma about him, in the smile he can’t turn off and the energy that doesn’t stop.

But Mikey likes the engine room the most, even more than toying with the comm rigging.  Alicia tends to play music in the engine room, barely audible over the great clanking of machinery, and Mikey likes to listen to it and to watch Alicia work. He won’t lie; he likes the way she wears tight shirts with no sleeves in the dank heat of the engine room. He likes seeing all her tattoos, the swirling roses on her right arm, the brighter colours of her left and the tight, intricate spirals of her chest piece.

“It’s French,” she says, when she catches him staring. She touches the edge of the tattoo delicately, leaving a grease smudge. He blinks and then looks at the walls, covered in Arabic.

“You speak French too?” He asks, surprised. She shrugs.

“I lived in High Casablanca. The official language is technically French but everyone speaks Arabic and you need English to work in The System.” She smiles ironically. “Three languages isn’t that weird.”

“Sorry,” Mikey says. “I only speak English. I never really learned anything else. Doctors don’t really learn any languages.”

Alicia hums a brief agreement and flips open a section of plating on one of the whirling turbines.

“Is that what your family does? I mean, I knew you were hekima but your family’s in the medical trade?” She asks, slightly muffled when she sticks her head halfway into turbine’s opening, fiddling with wires. Mikey nods and then realises she can’t see him.

“Yeah, we’re doctors.” He supposed to be proud of that, he remembers belatedly. “I think I have an uncle who’s a history academic on the south side of Europa but, apart from that, it’s been doctors for centuries.” He pauses. “What about you? Always mechanics?”

Alicia shrugs; he can see her shoulders move even with her head still deep in an engine part. “Didn’t really know my mom and dad died when I was a kid. I lived with an uncle and he was a book-binder. He wanted me to go into the book trade with him but, you know, not really suited for my temperament.”

“Oh,” Mikey says. “I’m sorry.”

Alicia pulls her head out of the engine and looks at Mikey. She looks confused.

“Sorry for what?” She asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“About your parents.” Mikey says carefully. Alicia’s expression shifts quickly to one of surprise.

“Oh. Thank you?” She seems to shake it off with a brief shrug of her shoulders. “Like I said, I never really know them.” She rubs at her forehead, pushing her hair off her face and getting engine grease all over. Mikey laughs.

“Oh, oh, you’ve got a little something just right..well, everywhere.” He says, gesturing at her entire face. She flips him off.

“Oh fuck you. You want to be helpful you come over here and hold this coil while I do some rewiring.” She shakes an unravelling orange and grey coil at him mock-threateningly.

**& &&**

Tuesday morning Mikey sleeps in, totally by accident, and wakes up to screams. He doesn’t even think, just grabs a shirt and runs towards the sound. The kitchen’s a mess, broken plates and cutlery rolling around the floor, and Mikey very nearly impales his foot on one of the so-called ‘good plates’. Mikey looks up, scanning the rest of the kitchen, and sees the incoming plate just in time to duck away from it. It crashes into the wall behind him and splinters into thirds.

“Go away!” Pete screams, hefting another plate. “Just go away!”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Mikey manages, before ducking again.

“Pete, calm down. Pete, Pete, listen to me!” Patrick says, sounding desperate. “Please stop throwing stuff at Mikey, c’mon, you like Mikey.” Patrick and Alicia both try to grab Pete but he ducks past them and waves another plate threatening.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t _fucking_ touch me!” Pete shouts. He’s practically rubber-necking, looking backward and forward like he’s trying to keep Mikey, Pete and Alicia all in his sight line at one time. The kitchen table is the only piece of furniture left standing, the chairs knocked every which way. Pete circles it quickly when Patrick reaches for him, fingertips brushing his arm. “I said don’t fucking touch me!” Pete shouts, screaming the last part. He sounds honestly terrified, as if Patrick and Alicia are trying to hurt him.

“Pete, c’mon, listen to Patrick.” Alicia pleads, taking a step away from the wall she’s backed up again. Pete lifts his plate threatening. It looks heavy. While he’s distracted, Patrick makes a sudden movement towards him, reaching for the plate. Pete flinches away suddenly and drops the plate, crockery exploding around their feet.

“Just leave me alone!” Pete wails, backing up until he’s pressed right against the table. His fingers grip the edge, knuckles turning white. “Just leave me alone,” he whimpers and then falls to his knees, crunching crockery when he hits the ground. “Leave me alone,” he whimpers again. He covers his face with his hands. Mikey looks away. It’s not that it’s embarrassing. Someone that beaten doesn’t deserved to get stared at.

“Pete, Pete, oh I’m sorry,” Patrick says and kneels by Pete, reaching out to him. Pete flinches away and whimpers again, like it physically hurts to have someone touch him.

Alicia gingerly takes a few steps across the kitchen to Mikey, wincing when broken plates crunch loudly.

“C’mon,” she whispers and jerks her head out of the kitchen. The last thing Mikey sees his Patrick wrapping his arms around a trembling Pete.

**& &&**

“Pete didn’t have an easy childhood,” Alicia says bluntly, when they reach the engine room. Her face is like thunder, grim and angry, as if she wants to punch something. She kicks one of the secondary engines with a little too much force and winces. Mikey doesn’t know if he’s supposed to respond. Alicia waves one hand in a vague all-encompassing gesture. “Sometimes he has nightmares, hallucinations, triggers. I don’t know what the fuck what but sometime he just can’t hold it all together.”

“And he gets the urge to throw plates at anything that moves?” Mikey says.

Alicia sighs.

“The plate throwing is new actually. Usually it’s a lot of shouting and screaming and calling me and ‘Trick by different names.” She looks sad and rubs a hand across her face. “He can’t remember who we are then. Just screams and screams till he screams himself out.” She closes her eyes, gathers herself and breathes deep.

“That’s awful, I’m sorry.” Mikey says. He paid a limited amount of attention at school but he can grasp the idea of residual childhood trauma being triggered. Alicia turns away and her shoulders fall.

“If I ever find the son of bitch who did that to him, I’m going to tie him to the _Fall Out_ and let him get dragged through our fucking manoeuvring turbines, I swear to God.” She says viciously. Mikey puts a hand on her shoulder awkwardly. He’s not a hundred percent sure of his position on the ship but he wants to offer some comfort. “Oh god,” Alicia says, throat chocked, before she turns and buries her face in Mikey’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” she says, after she’s cried herself out. Mikey lets his arm encircle her.

“No, it’s alright,” he says. 

 

 **Chapter Four** :

_“The intermarriage of individuals of separate and distinct castes within the Middle Castes (i.e. hekima and las maquinas.) is illegal in all cases. Citizens of The Home System whom attempt to, engage or assist in creating matrimony across the Middle Castes are subject to prosecution at the highest level by The State, with sentencing at the discretion of the presiding judge.”_

_Line 56-B of Laws Of The Home System Regarding The Separation Of Castes_

Someone is singing on the central channel. The language isn’t familiar and there aren’t enough consonant sounds for it to have Latin roots but the destination signature is one of the English-speaking worlds. Mikey lets the song filter in through the comm rig speakers and fill the cockpit, oozing out into the rest of the ship. Everything is soft and quiet with the feeling of early morning.

Patrick leans back in his chair, pulls his flight visor up to rest it on the crown of his head and sighs tiredly, massaging his temples. A clanking noise on the steps heralds Pete leaning into the cockpit, hair still mussed from sleep.

“That’s pretty,” He murmurs, sounding still half-asleep. “What is it?”

Mikey shrugs, comm rig headphones hanging around his neck haphazardly.

“No idea. It was on the central channel. Thought it’d be a good way to wake up.”

Pete smiles sleepily and rubs a hand over his face.

“Yeah, it is.” He says softly. He nearly trips over the step into the cockpit before coming up to the pilot’s chair to rest a hand on Patrick’s shoulder.

“Hey you,” Patrick says happily, looking up. Mikey work up an hour ago but Patrick’s been awake for hours, recalculating their course. Pete looks down and their eyes meet. They smile happily. Mikey looks away, feeling as if he’s intruding. It’s a private moment but before Mikey puts his headphones back on he hears Pete whisper “Thanks for putting up with me ‘Trick.”

**& &&**

Alicia laughs when Mikey hides in the engine room for the second day in a row, avoiding the comm rig completely. Patrick and Pete have been spending a lot of intimate time in the cockpit and Mikey’s avoiding it as best he can.

“It’s always like this, after one of Pete’s blowups.” She says, giggling. “They spend a week hanging off each other.” She shrugs and smiles fondly. “ ‘Trick worries too much and Pete doesn’t worry enough. They’re practically made for each other.”

Mikey pull himself on top of one of the large cupboards built into the side of the hull. They’re a good vantage point, out of the way so he won’t bother Alicia but close enough that they can talk over the sound of the turbines.

“How long have you worked on _The_ _Fall Out_?” Mikey asks curiously. Alicia lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug and makes a face like she’s unsure.

“Good couple years. Patrick bought her before I came aboard but they hadn’t been flying for long. The engines were shot to shit; I have no idea how they were even staying in the sky.” She says, running one of her hands over an engine panel as if apologising for previous care she had no control over. Mikey crosses his legs, rests his elbows on his knees.

“Luck they found you then,” He says, smiling. He’s happy. She looks up from the engine and smiles back, pure and sweet.

“Damn straight,” She says, before turning back to the engine. “Nightjars weren’t designed for only three crew, let alone two. I keep telling Patrick we should take someone on, if only for the comm rig or the cargo.” She waves a hand, obviously frustrated. “Trick says having small crew frees up space for cargo or passengers but it’s not like we ever take on jobs that big!” She makes an annoyed noise and grabs a wicked looking tool from the pile near her bed, waving it dangerously. “And really, I can’t be here every goddamn second and Patrick can’t fly and run the comm rig at the same time and we can’t expect Pete to do every other fucking thing this ship needs to stay in the sky.” She pries open a panel with some force and makes an annoyed noise when wires inside spark angrily. Mikey backs up further against the hull worriedly.

“Can you not leave the engine sometimes?” He asks. Alicia snorts.

“Nightjars are temperamental. Especially our old girl here,” She pats an unopened panel with her free hand. “The wings mean we don’t have to refuel as often as a ship on combustion fuels but the fluid converter is corrosive. We save a shitton on fuel but I spend a lot of my time doing rewiring.” Gingerly, she reaches into the open panel, obviously trying to avoid sparking wires. For the first time, Mikey notices a light red scar, a little smaller than his hand, on the back of her shoulder. It looks like a burn.

**& &&**

Mikey sleeps fitfully that night. He’s been adjusting to the deep rumble of the engine, the occasional clank, as the ship moves through space, but he can’t seem to find the rhythm of breathing along with the ship. He dozes for a few hours, on and off, before being woken by the sound of someone moving in the hallways outside his room.

It’s not that odd. Pete doesn’t always sleep during the ship’s assigned night and sometimes Mikey listens to him moving through the ship into the deep hours of the evening. Eventually, early in the morning, Mikey gives up on sleeping and heads to the cockpit, skipping food in favour of getting lost in the deeper comm channels. There’s less English on the non-standard channels and less unencrypted messages but the sound of the static and garbled messages moving through space is soothing.

Working a comm rig is like riding a bicycle, so he’s told. (Mikey was hekima and from an old family. Bicycling was beneath him or at least excluded from his childhood education.) It comes back to you the moment you come back to it and as much as Pete, Patrick and Alicia talk about _the_ _Fall Out_ as if she’s a lady who can talk back, the channels don’t just talk, they _sing_. Every communication, every message in all The Home System goes through the comm channels. Most of them pass through the central band, even encrypted official messages. Space is large and to communicate across it takes skill, like throwing a message in a bottle into a great ocean and hitting the currents just right so that the bottle will end up just where you want.

Mikey’s favourite messages are the ones that weren’t aimed at all, messages to people whose names have been forgotten or whose locations are unknown. Small, tiny messages of hope, family’s trying to find their children, lovers reaching out to each other across stars. Space is massive and humanity is still trying to find each other in it.

 _The Fall Out’s_ rig is old enough to be considered ‘vintage’ but its wooden dials and fake-mother-of-pearl inlays hide an impressive encryption system. Mikey’s so engrossed in pulling apart the thin layers of the sub-channels that he doesn’t even hear Patrick come into the cockpit, jumping about out of his skin when Patrick touches his shoulder. He pulls off the over-sized comm headphones, surprised by how the deep static and chatter of the channels quickly becomes the quiet ambient noise of the ship.

“Thought you should know,” Patrick says quietly. “But I managed to cut a shorter course then I thought. We’re coming up on Aberdeen pretty quickly. We should be there in a day or two.”

Some wound deep inside of Mikey, that had healed over in _the Fall Out_ , cracks open like a fissure opening deep inside him.

He nods, face impassive.

“Thank you Patrick,” he says formally, falling back into language he hasn’t used in days. He leaves the comm rig headphones on the table and retreats to his room. Something is bleeding inside him.

**& &&**

Mikey’s room is too claustrophobic to be anything like a decent retreat. Everywhere there is something to remind him that he will be leaving. His reading pad with the medical textbooks he has no passion or gift for, the lower caste clothes he wore out of defiance and a half written letter to Gerard all lie on his bed and Mikey just doesn’t want to leave. He turns tail and runs.

**& &&**

He doesn’t know where this panic has come from, to suddenly have it leap onto him when he least expects it. The idea of returning to his ‘real life’, sleeping through his days as a medical student, bowing to his parents’ wishes, living like a zombie, has him breathing shallowly.

He doesn’t think, just ends up in the engine room and pulls himself onto his normal seat, high up. The whirring is comforting, in a mindless way, and Mikey closes his eyes, lets himself sink into the wall. He hadn’t seen Alicia working and he starts when she climbs up on the cupboard with him.

“You look kinda shitty,” she says, deadpan, when he opens his eyes to look at her. He sighs and rubs at one of his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“I feel it.” He says, looking away. Alicia doesn’t say anything, just pulls herself into a seated position and waits. A long pauses stretches out between them.

“I’m supposed to be a doctor,” Mikey says simple and then rolls his eyes at himself. “You already knew that. It’s just,” He pauses. “I’m a shitty doctor. Or, I guess a really shitty med student.” His hands come up in front of him to gesture, as if drawing some whole and complete with his hands. “My brother, Gerard, he’s a doctor. And, he has this way of seeing people, like a puzzle. I mean, not that he’s cruel or heartless, Gerard’s not like that, but to be a good doctor, I think you have to have an aspect of that, of being able to separate people into the person, with their loves and fears and life, and into the puzzle, with their disease or injury.” He sighs and lets his hands drop. “I’ve never been able to stop seeing the person and start seeing the puzzle.”

He looks over at Alicia and smiles sheepishly.

“I don’t want to go. Gerard was always better at being hekima than I was.” He says, self-deprecatingly. “I like it here.” He finishes sadly, running a hand along the hull gently. Alicia smiles at him kindly.

“Our girl has a way of growing on you like that.” She says, patting the ship, and then turning to him. “If you don’t want to leave, then don’t. What’s stopping you?”

Mikey opens his mouth, ready to spew out the thousands of _hundreds_ of reasons he can’t stay aboard, how his family would kill him and he has _responsibilities_ and, and, and...

“Nothing,” Mikey says, surprised. He feels his smile nearly split his face. “There’s _nothing_ stopping me.”

Alicia smiles.

“Life is always simpler than we make it.” She reaches out to squeeze his hand, rubbing her fingers across his palm. He threads his fingers through hers and smiles, gripping her hand in return. “Stay with us,” she says simply.

**& &&**

_“I have found somewhere to be happy as my own person. Perhaps not as the man my family wanted me to be but as my own man, with a life I have built for myself. It is better for us all if I am forgotten.”_

_(from a letter from Michael Way to his brother, Gerard.)_

**& && Four Years Later &&&**

 

 

 **Chapter Five** :

_  
Missing Persons Report   
_

_Name: Michael James Way_

_Age: 22_

_Appearance: Average height. Skinny. Brown or black hair, short. Hazel/brown eyes.(refer to accompanying photograph.)_

_Last Seen By: (vysra) Kenin Lokaj, servant._

_Filed By: (hekima) Arthur Way, father_

_Last Known Location: New Chicago spacedocks, possible passage to Aberdeen._

_  
_

“Alicia, coming up on Brasilia now, power to the manoeuvring turbines please.” Patrick says, flipping his flight visor down over his eyes one-handed while turning the wheel sharply.

 “Givin’ you what I got. We’re really got to replace our fuel nebuliser.” Alicia’s days, voice tinny over the intercom.

“Yeah, yeah. Why don’t you ever ask me for nice things, ‘Licia? It’s always ‘I want this part,’, ‘Patrick, buy me new life support’, blah blah blah,” Patrick teases. Alicia laughs, the intercom cutting off the sound..

“Brasilia Docks, this is Nightjar Registered _The Fall Out_ , A673D, requesting landing permission. Encrypted papers incoming.” Mikey flips a switch, holding the comm rig’s headphones to one ear with his free hand.

“Nightjar Registered _The Fall Out_ , this is Brasilia Docks. Landing permission accepted. You are cleared for docking in bay Victor Victor November.” 

“Thank you Brasilia, landing now,”

The Brasilia docks are makeshift at best, mainly jungle wood towers clustered on an expanse of fire-cleared dirt outside the town. The manoeuvring turbines on the left side flip over with a great whoosh of sound and the whole ship turns, pulling in slowly to the docking bay. The magnoelectric clamps snap into place and _The_ _Fall Out_ lurches to a final stop. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

“Good to be back on dirt,” Pete’s voice comes loud and bright over the cargo bay intercom.

“Gonna be even better when we sell our cargo on.” Patrick says, extracting himself from the pilot’s chair.

“Someone’s grumpy today. Can you lazy asses get your butts down here and move cargo? I am not doing this shit by myself.” Pete says.

“We’re coming. Keep your pants on Wentz.” Mikey says, dropping his headphones and traipsing out the cockpit door. Alicia meets them on the way, pulling her hair back with her grease-stained hands.

“Hey honey,” Mikey says, leaning forward for a kiss. She kisses the corner of his mouth and he can feel the shape of her smile against him. He smiles dopily. Two years of marriage and the novelty still hasn’t worn off.

Patrick makes fake gagging noises from behind them.

“We’re working. Do married shit later.” Patrick says grumpily. Alicia deepens the kiss and finishes tying her hair to flick off Patrick off.

“Like you haven’t tried to get Pete to marry you eight different times,” Alicia says, teasingly, when they break apart. Patrick sighs huffily.

“It was _twice_ and he said as soon as the imam who married you gets out of jail.” Patrick says, only slightly annoyed. Alicia chuckles and leans into Mikey’s arms.

“It is so the opposite of classy that our priest is in jail.” Alicia says. Patrick shrugs.

“Joe sent Pete a message about it. He got caught marrying some Lords daughter and a maquina, the crazy fucker.” Patrick waves a hand as if brushing the crazy away.

“Next time we get married, can we get an imam who won’t get caught?” Alicia kisses his cheek quickly and then darts away, towards the cargo hold.

“Wait, next time? I thought once was enough!” Mikey shouts after her, smiling.

**& &&**

Hauling cargo is probably Mikey’s least favourite part of _The Fall Out_. Not that it’s the ship’s fault, it’s just boring and Mikey was never really cut out for manual labour.

It’s legal cargo, which is nice for a change, and the buyer comes straight up to the ship to collect the goods. Pete and Patrick chat with him, on and off, while Alicia moves cargo very capably and Mikey lamely drags crates to the hover carrier.

Patrick makes a lot of show to buyers about being Captain and in charge but Pete’s the one who finds the jobs and secures clients. They take practically any job, mostly smuggling, although Pete won’t take slaving jobs. He refuses to have that happen in his home.

They get paid, which puts Patrick in a good mood. Pete’s in a good mood because they’re somewhere new and the combination means they get time off on the dirt.

**& &&**

Brasilia isn’t a backwater but it isn’t quite big enough to be considered a major town. Most of the people work in the jungle, eking out a living, and come to Brasilia to sell what they can find.

Alicia and Mikey trail through the market, holding hands. Alicia pulling him forcibly between stands of cheap merchandise. Brasilia doesn’t have any tech markets, so they wander aimlessly, looking at the homemade jewellery and fresh jungle fruit. It’s all very quaint and lovely, apart from the open sewage behind the market. Jungla is a pretty planet but it’s poor. 

**& &&**

Gerard’s a young, brilliant doctor with five years independent experience and a sterling record. Around now, he should be considering settling down, get a practice on one of the prosperous central planets and marry a nice hekima girl. His parents would like him to have kids and use his experience of the rim planets only when needed to entertain dinner party guests. Instead, Gerard’s had six postings in four years, all on the rim planets, all in practices falling down from poverty.

He’s been on Brasilia for four months and works in the city’s only non-emergency practice. Gerard trained with a speciality in oncology after his childhood obsessions left him a healthy morbid streak but now he treats limping octogenarians and dribbling toddlers alike. The damp jungle air triggers deep-lung pneumonia and the mosquitoes spread tropical fevers. There’s always a lot to do.

Since Mikey disappeared, Gerard sees him in everyone. The nurse at his surgery has the same ironic eyebrow arch. He dated an academic colleague from his first posting for a year and a half because she had Mikey’s same awkward, duck-footed posture. Gerard couldn’t bring himself to end the relationship until he left for another planet. He misses Mikey always.

For the first six months, he kept expecting him to suddenly appear. His transport had been delayed or he’d been side tracked and Mikey would eventually come home.

But he never came home. Gerard started to see Mikey’s hair or the shape of his face everywhere he looked but it was always a stranger or someone who disappeared around the corner.

After Gerard’s transfer from Lilongwe, Brasilia seemed full of Mikey. Gerard was always looking over his shoulder, hoping and praying that the next person to walk into the surgery would be Mikey. Four months of jungle has largely cured him of it and Gerard is not expecting to see his long-lost brother being dragged through Brasilia markets by a maquina covered in dirt. His hair is blonde, with dark roots where the dye ends, and his face is smudged with engine grease but it’s him, Gerard is sure. He folds in on himself the same when he runs and the mildly pretty girl dragging him along by the hand isn’t dragging him fast enough for Gerard not to get a good view of Mikey’s face.

Gerard feels something sharp pull in his heart. His baby brother was back from the empty miles of space that had hidden him and he was _alive_.

The girl tugging at Mikey pulls around a corner and Gerard sees the sudden jerk of his shoulders, the flash of discomfort on his fast as he takes the corner unannounced. All he can think is a mental shout of ‘give me my brother back’.

Gerard doesn’t notice the way that Mikey curls his fingers around the hand of the girl or the simple wedding rings pressed together by their tightly held hands.

 

 **Chapter Six** :

_10 th Oktober, 1285, Standardised Calendar._

_Arrests: 4_

_(vysra-bonded) Peter Wentz: Resisting Arrest (1), Assisting Intermarriage (1), Striking an Officer (2), Unregistered Sale of Self (1)_

_(las maquinas) Patrick Stump: Resisting Arrest (1), Assisting Intermarriage (1), Striking an Officer (1), Owning an Unregistered Bonded Vysra (1), Obstruction of Justice (1)_

_(las maquinas) Alicia Simmons: Resisting Arrest (2), Intermarriage (1), Striking an Officer (1), Obstruction of Justice (1)_

_(hekima) Michael Way: Resisting Arrest (1), Intermarriage (1),_

_From the arrest logs of the Brasilia 3 rd Precinct_

Alicia runs a calloused hand over her girl. Patrick and Pete might bicker over her, might let their lover’s spats turn into petty power struggle over who owns who and who owns what but Alicia knows every twist and turn of her ship. She’s memorised the bumps and grooves of the hull platting, welded shoddily before her time. Every dent and its corresponding rough landing are embedded in her memory. The deep dent and entry burn is when a turbine conduit snapped and Patrick landing without manoeuvring power. Here are the sharp energy burst patterns from getting shot at over Free Chechnya and here is the sanded away impound mark left over from the time Pete got caught trying to free 12 orja slaves from the Tuareg slave market of Old Saharaland.

She fingers her wedding ring, smiling absently. Mikey and her have a tattoo all picked out, waiting for their next docking at a semi-reputable planet. She worries idly about losing her ring in the engine and reminds herself, again, to take it off before she starts the rotors.

She can see Mikey in the corner of her vision, reading a book in what little sun he can grab before they ship off again. The sound of Pete moving something in the open cargo bay floats out over the sun-drenched docking ground, little more than a space of packed, dry earth.

Sometimes Alicia misses the great open blue skies of the desert outside Mecca but the trade of cloudless and oppressive desert heat for the star-filled chill of space is worth the loss.

The sound of boots crunching dirt makes her lift her head. The steady tramp of trained law enforcement in unhappily familiar and so is the blocky silhouette that covers her in shadow. Policemen stand the same on every world.. She feels her shoulder tense but still turns and smiles blandly, seeing a tall, heavy-set law officer. A few younger officers mill behind him, looking at other ships idly or watching their commander impassively.

“Good afternoon, officer. How can I help you?” she asks. The officer huffs out a disgruntled breath, blowing the rotting smell of his old breakfast into Alicia’s face. She stops herself from wrinkling her nose and keeps her insincere smile plastered onto her face.

“We’re investigating a missing persons case.” He says, looking down his nose at Alicia’s dirty hands and mussed hair. The pins on his lapel mark him as a soldat, probably a younger son gone into law enforcement. Alicia knows he’s no better than her, except for birth, but he’ll still look down at the maquinas that work with their hands for a living.

“A Michael Way went missing from the docks at New Chicago four years ago,” the officer says stiffly.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alicia sees Mikey rise warily to his feet, his book forgotten. She smiles broadly at the law officer but twitches her hand in a barely-there signal to stay back.

“The New Chicago docks are a big place, officer. Plenty of people go missing.” She says glibly. The officer grabs her, hard, by the arm.

“This one would have stood out,” he growls close to her ear. “Hekima, brown hair, going to Aberdeen to visit his brother.” He pauses ominously. “You wouldn’t have taken on any...unexpected passengers about four years ago, now would you?”

Alicia skins crawls and her throat fills with the rotting smell of the officer’s breath.

“No, sir,” she grits out between clenched teeth. “Not us, we just move cargo.”

The officer lets go of her arm unceremoniously, pushing her away violently.

“Where’s your captain? I want to see the reg papers for this hunk of junk.” He says angrily. Pete had moved out of the cargo bay to hover nervously at the entrance, hugging himself tensely. “You, vysra!” The officer shouts, pointing at Pete. He starts, jerking to look at the officer with wide, nervous eyes. “Where’s your master?”

At that moment, Patrick walks around the side of _The Fall Out_ , rubbing dirt off his hands.

“I’d appreciate if you could not terrorise my employees, Officer. These are my ship’s registration papers.” He says coolly, pulling a small envelope of papers from inside his coat. The officer flips through them dismissively.

“These all seem to be in order, Captain...” The officer refers back to the papers, “Stump.”

Patrick inclines his head and reaches out for his paper, the officer slapping the envelope into his hand with a solid _thwack_.

“We’re investigating a missing persons report, Captain. Have you seen this man?” The officer reaches into his coat and pulls out a photograph. “We have a report that he was seen this morning in the marketplace.” 

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen him, Officer.” Patrick says casually. “Alicia, come here.” He gestures for her to approach, as if he’s the kind of captain who orders his employees around. Alicia approaches, keeping her head down and her movements slow. Mikey has been slowly drifting towards the cargo bay, trying to attract the least amount of attention possible. “You ever seen this man, Alicia?” Patrick asks her, passing over the photograph. It’s small and bad quality but Alicia can see Mikey, slightly younger, with brown hair and glasses. He looks different now but not different enough to hold up under scrutiny. She shakes her head.

“No boss,” she says, keeping her head down. The officer sighs.

“Sorry, we couldn’t help you more, Officer,” Patrick says, shrugging ruefully. The officer nods and turns, without thanking them.

They all hold their breath when he walks past Mikey but he keeps his head down, his blonde hair flopped over his face. The officer walks to the edge of the docking ground, the other officer falling into step behind him. Suddenly, he stops, as if realising something, and turns slowly, pivoting on the heel of one foot.

“Your reg papers only named three crew, Captain Stump, not four.” The officer says slowly.

“Shit,” says Patrick emphatically in the tense silence.

Suddenly, everyone is running and shouting and trying to get to each other. Mikey scrambles for the cargo bay, hot on Pete’s heels, but an officer grabs him from behind and he falls, jerkily, to the ground.

 “You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be given in evidence. You are under arrest for,” the lead officer says, starting to recite an arrest speech. Alicia doesn’t goddamn care what she’s under arrest for. An officer is forcing Mikey’s hands behind his back and all Alicia can think of is that is her husband, castes be damned, and they are _hurting_ him.

One of them grab Pete by the shoulder and he turns, purely out of instinct, punches the officer across the face.

The lead officer who had been so disrespectful tackles Patrick when he goes for the cargo bay doors and Alicia has her arms pulled behind her by one of his cronies.

“Mikey! Mikey!” she shouts, struggling in the arms of the officer, nearly lifted off the ground by the force of it. Mikey tries to free himself, not fully understanding, shouting anything that comes to mind.

 “Patrick!” Pete nearly wails, ceasing to hold himself on his own two feet. The officers trying to arrest him are forced to hold him up by his arms as he thrashes.

 “Mikey!” Alicia screams, thrashing uselessly against the grip of the police. She takes a swing, wildly, and catches an officer by the temple. He falls back and she frees herself enough to run a few steps towards Mikey. He shouts, fighting fruitlessly.

“’licia!” Alicia!” He shouts. Another officer tackles Alicia from behind, knocking her to the dusty ground.

“Stop! Stop!” Patrick shouts, trying desperately to free himself. Pete is nearly rabid, screaming and shouting wordlessly. He twists at the waist, elbows an officer in the gut and runs, desperately, towards Patrick. He doesn’t have words or a plan, just runs towards Patrick. Their fingers brush as Patrick struggles to free himself but Pete is grabbed by the shoulder and thrown to the ground. The lead officer shouts orders into a walkie-talkie, struggling to hold Patrick down.

Alicia screams again, her face pressed half against the ground. Muffled, it sounds like “Mikey! Run! Mikey!” An officer drops a knee onto her back and she shouts, wordlessly, as the air leaves her lungs in one sudden breath.

“Alicia! ‘licia! Please, please, Alicia!” Mikey shouts.

None of them know how long they are forced to struggle for but it feels like hours before they are bundled into the back of a police van, their hands handcuffed behind their backs.

**& &&**

“Well, shit,” says Patrick, when they’ve all caught their breath. Pete giggles hysterically and crowds himself into the corner, back to the walls like he’s protecting himself.

“Patrick, the warrants from Karenina!” Alicia says worriedly.

“I know,” Patrick says seriously. “They mean we can’t stay long. You think you’ll be able to pop the cell?”

Alicia nods.

“Probably. Depends on the security grade but I should be able to.” She says hopefully.

Mikey throws both his arms into the air.

“Wait a second, what the fuck are we talking about?” He says angrily. Pete folds himself even smaller, sitting down and wrapping his arms around his legs.

“I’m a slave,” he says simply, into the quiet police van. Mikey looks at him oddly.

“Well, yes, of course. You sold your vysra bond to Patrick for like an _eighty year_ term.” Mikey says, obviously still confused. Pete shakes his head as he starts to tremble noticably.

“No. Not a slave like the vysra are slaves, when you sell yourself and leave your contract when you want. An orja. I was born orja, near New Chicago. I was sold to a household on Karenina when I was a kid.”

“No one thought to tell me this earlier?” Mikey says, angrily. Pete covers his face with his hands, trying harder and harder to become as small as possible.

“We don’t talk about it much," Patrick says seriously, sitting down next to Pete and pulling one of his hands away from his face to hold onto it tightly.

 “Patrick helped me escape when we were kids.” Pete says, slightly muffled by his own knees.

Patrick grips Pete’s hand even tighter, both of their knuckles turning white.

“They might not recognize us. If we can get out quickly, we'll be fine.” He says, almost desperately.

Mikey runs his hand over his face.

“I have to find out about this in the back of a police van, Patrick.” He says, both exasperated and frustrated. “Why didn’t I know about this earlier?”

Patrick looks away and won’t meet Mikey’s eyes. Even Alicia doesn’t look up.

“We don’t talk about it much, Mikey. It’s old wounds. Please, you can’t tell anyone, not the police, not anyone." Alicia says, sounding both terrified and terribly sad

“Do you know what they do to orja who run away?” Patrick asks. Mikey shakes his head. Pete looks up and smiles bitterly.

“They kill them. I would be executed. That’s what the higher castes do to orja who misbehave.” Pete spits the words out viciously. Patrick pulls Pete hand towards him.

“Pete, stop. We have to keep our heads.” He says, running his thumb over the back of Pete’s hand soothingly.

Patrick turns to Mikey, face impassive.

“They’ll separate us. We’re relying on you, Mikey.”

**& &&**

Alicia had been the only non-Muslim in her class of fifty students, male and female. The girls wore headscarves or dressed with a modicum of modesty. As Alicia grew, she let her hair snarl into dreadlocks and wore clothes that showed her hips and arms.

It took a special kind of defiance to live on Mecca & Medina and to be a female mechanic, to love who she wanted and befriend who she liked. Alicia had learned early that defiance did not guarantee survival and her adolescence was largely spent accumulating the skills she needed to survive. She could fire a gun with reasonable accuracy, could fight on equal footing with most men. Her passion had been engines but lock-picking was a special kind of knowledge that appealed to her.  It was also the very kind of knowledge that Alicia was putting to good use on her prison cell.

There’s a simple classical lock that takes a physical key set up in the door. Set in the wall outside the door is a wireless sensor lock that sets off an alarm if the door is opened without it being disabled. Fortunately, none of the guards seems to have realised that the space between bars is quite sufficient for Alicia to reach the key sensor and, with a bit of squirming, to remove the cover panel.

She can’t see the wires but after _The Fall Out_ , she can practically rewire in her sleep. It’s not too much of a trial to reroute the sensor onto a self-repeating cycle. It doesn’t matter if the door opens or closes, the sensor’s always going to think it’s been deactivated and the door is permanently open.

Next, a metal aglet from a shoelace makes quick work of the classical lock, popping the tumblers out of their catches one by one.

Alicia Simmons was a free woman. And she wasn’t leaving without her crew.

**& &&**

Patrick paces the length of his cell nervously, turning sharply on his heel when he reaches a wall. Pete elbows braced on his knees, lets his eyes flick back and forth as he watches from the cell’s low bench. Pete’s vysra tattoo is visible on the inside of his wrist, a single black band indicating he’s sold his bond for over fifty years. It’s the only thing that’s kept Patrick and Pete together; it’s illegal to separate a vysra and their master without the permission Patrick refuses to give.

Neither of them speak for a long time, both of them listening tensely for any sound that might indicate Alicia’s approach.

 “We can’t take Mikey with us.” Pete says suddenly, sounding pained.

“What? Why not?”  Patrick says, shocked, stopping his pacing to turn and stare at Pete.

Pete gestures angrily.

“If we take Mikey they’ll keep looking for us. We’ll have kidnapped a hekima. We’ll be wanted fugitives. They’ll never stop looking for us.” Pete says regretfully.

The sound of clicking steps against the hallways dark floor make them both fall quickly silent. Alicia’s pale face darts around the door, looking around her for guards.

“Alicia!” Patrick nearly-shouts in surprise.

“Shhhhhh!” Alicia hisses loudly, finger to her lips. She quickly pulls the front cover off the electric lock, running the same wiring trick she pulled on her own door before popping the manual lock open. Patrick pushes the door open quickly before grabbing Pete’s hand to pull him along.

“Licia, you have to know, we can’t get Mikey.” Pete says, holding tightly to Patrick’s hand. Alicia frowns but nods.

“I know. But I can damn well say goodbye to my husband Pete. She says. “I’m not giving up on him anytime soon.”

**& &&**

Alicia’s wrist is thin enough to fit her hand through the cell bars to hold Mikey’s hand. Their wedding rings press together and Alicia realises, suddenly, in that slightly hysterical way stress brings, that Mikey and her have never got their wedding tattoos.

 “You, you can’t come with us right now.” Alicia says, tears in her eyes. “We’ll, we’ll have kidnapped a hekima.” Her breath hitches as she struggles to breathe. “They’ll never stop looking for us if we take you,” Mikey nods tensely, gripping her hand tightly.

“I understand.” He says, voice wobbling only slightly. “But I won’t stay here. I’ll come find you. I promise.” His voice nearly cracks. “They can’t take me away from you, not forever.”

Alicia hiccups, nearly a quiet sob.

“But they can, can’t they? Maquina and hekima, it’s illegal.” Alicia says, trying to be realistic. Mikey’s face clouds and he looks angry.

“That’s never stopped us before. It doesn’t matter. I love you,” He says with feeling. Alicia smiles waterily.

“I love you too. We’ll leave our comm channel open. We’ll be listening. Come find us. I love you,” she says desperately.

“Alicia, we have to go,” Patrick says nervously, watching for guards at the end of the hallway.

Alicia and Mikey let go of each other, reluctantly.

“I love you,” Mikey says again, watching as Pete, Patrick and Alicia dash around a corner. He runs his fingers over his wedding ring nervously, turning it round and round his finger. Unmoveable, he watches the corner for hours, until he can no longer stay awake.

 

 **Chapter Seven** : 

_Qabul. (I accept.)_

_A marriage vow._

Mikey is 26 years old and a married man but he’s being treated him like a child. The police find the marriage documents that Pete helped him and Alicia fake and then they take away his wedding ring. The chief inspector gives him a cold lecture about ‘the consequences of his actions’, like he’s some rebellious teenager, and then he’s left alone and slightly panicky in a cold, grey waiting room.

They’d asked him about _The Fall Out_ and where Patrick might have taken her but he truthfully doesn’t know. If he can get away, when he can get away, he’ll ask in some of their normal bolt holes but they won’t have gone anywhere Mikey knows. It’d be too dangerous. He’s already planning, trying to figure out a way to search the outer planets efficiently. He won’t need to go to all of them if he can find a comm rig powerful enough and he can rule out the central planets where there’s too many policemen and regulation and _The Fall Out_ wouldn’t be able to escape detection.

The waiting room door swings open, knocking against the wall with a clang. Mikey flinches, expecting another law officer until the moment when Gerard, a little worse for the wear of four years, shuffles through the door.

Mikey can’t move. He can’t even think. It’s a shock so deep he can feel it in his bones, the way his whole body goes rigid. Gerard runs a hand through his hair, grown out since Mikey saw him last, and smiles awkwardly.

“I missed you,” he says simply. Mikey winces, reminded suddenly of everything he left behind for Alicia and _The Fall Out_. Onboard, Mikey never had the chance to interact with his old world and there were no opportunities to be reminded of the family he had given up. But here Gerard is, in the flesh and blood, living and breathing and looking at Mikey like he’s cut out Gerard’s heart and stomped all over it in front of him.

Mikey rises to his feet slowly and awkwardly, not knowing where to put his hands. He doesn’t say that he missed Gerard too.

“Mikey,” says Gerard, voice nearly cracking. He steps forward abortively and then throws his arms around Mikey, pulling him into a tight hug. Mikey stands stock still, unable to even move. Gerard hugs him for longer than is strictly polite; Mikey’s silence only prolonging the discomfort of the situation.

“Gerard, what are you doing here?” Mikey asks finally, voice hoarse.

“I work here,” Gerard says, confused. He releases Mikey and steps back, running a hand through his hair again. “On Brasilia. I transferred here, four months ago. Mikey shakes his head, staring over the top of Gerard’s hair rather than make eye contact.

“Not on the planet, Gerard,” Mikey says. “Here. Why are you here?”

Gerard’s face colours with confusion.

The police released you into my custody.” He says slowly.

 “But why?” Mikey asks emphatically, still confused. Gerard frowns, as if it’s obvious.

“The police said you married a maquina.” Gerard says, overemphasizing ‘maquina’. “That’s illegal Mikey. You’re lucky they didn’t send you to prison.”

Mikey feels his jaw clench in anger.

“They took my wedding ring, Gerard. They took me away from my wife.” Mikey says, spitting out every word. “Trust me, right now I don’t feel very lucky.”

Mikey’s hands clench into fists, sudden and intense anger filling him like he’s never felt before. Gerard takes a small step backward, raising his palms slightly, as if calming a large, cornered animal.

“I’m going to take you...” Gerard says until Mikey waves one of his hands in an angry chopping motion, interrupting him.

“I don’t care right now. Just get me out of here.”

**& &&**

Mikey’s so angry.

He doesn’t speak for days. Instead, he practices Swahili noun classes in his head to remind himself of the life he was trying to build for himself. He’d been learning Swahili through the comm rig, listening to the long-distance classes when he can, and Alicia’s been teaching him French.

He’s so angry but instead of punching Gerard in the face, he wanders through his home like a ghost. Gerard still works during the day but he locks Mikey into the house with no way out. The sound of the lock clicking loudly every morning as Mikey lies in Gerard’s spare room. During the day, Mikey swings between rage and despair, unable to focus on a single emotion for any period time. He wants to take the first and fastest ship off this world and find _The Fall Out_ and his family and his _wife_ but seconds later he can barely move from the bed.

He avoids Gerard at all costs. He fakes sleeps till Gerard leaves in the morning and again when he comes home. They never eat together and Mikey can hear Gerard moving around the small house till late in the night.

Mikey misses the noise. He misses the sound of the ship moving around him, the knowledge that hard work and prayers was all that kept them in the sky. Gerard’s house is built on the edge of the jungle and the tree canopy means that Mikey can’t see the sky.

He can’t sleep anymore, not without the sound of an engine.

**& &&**

Mikey loses count of the days. There’s no way to count them, not without the changing stars of space.

Gerard surprises him by coming home early and Mikey has no time to retreat from the kitchen to his room. He crosses his arms and refuses to meet Gerard’s eyes, even when he throws several papers onto the table.

“They officially dissolved the marriage.” Gerard says emotionlessly. Mikey starts, his whole body flinching, and grabs the papers from the table. _Annulment Papers_ , they read, and Mikey drops them as if burnt. Everything up until now has felt like a strange, fog-filled dream but this makes it real. They’re taking Alicia away from him.

Mikey brinks back heavy tears, letting the papers fall from his hands.

He surges to his feet, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand to push away the tears.

“I’m going,” he says, his voice cracking with disuse. He tries for the door, only to have Gerard grab at his wrist.

“What, just leave your family again?” Gerard says bitterly. Mikey jerks his hand out of Gerard’s hold and turns, frowning.

“No one wanted me to stay,” Mikey says, voice still hoarse. “I’m no doctor, Gee. I’m nothing Mother and Father wanted in a son. All I want is a quiet life with my wife and our ship and an empty sky. It was better for us all if I just disappeared.”

Gerard barely restrains himself from hitting the table.

“Mikey, that’s not true!”

“Really? Did Mother and Father ever look for me? Pay anyone to look for me? Did they do anything that at all would indicate that they wanted me back?” Mikey says angrily before pausing and sighing. “They’re not bad people, it’s just, the life I want and the life they want for me don’t work together. I was never going to be a doctor. Why couldn’t I just be left alone? We weren’t hurting anyone.”

“But she’s maquina, Mikey. You’re hekima. It doesn’t work.” Gerard says earnestly. Mikey raises his arms, frustrated.

“Why not? We live in deep space. What’s out there that makes it not work? I love her. Isn’t that all that’s supposed to matter?” Mikey shakes his head, almost desperate. “I just want to be with my wife.”

“Mikey, I don’t understand. She’s a maquina. She’s not your wife,” Gerard says, shaking his head.

“God Damnit Gerard! I don’t care what the law says, I don’t care what scripture says, I don’t fucking care!” Mikey shouts, waving an arm in expansive, angry gesture and getting louder as he goes on. “I love my wife. I don’t understand what is difficult or wrong about that sentence, okay? I love my wife, I love my wife, I love my fucking wife!”

At that, Mikey storms out of the room, refusing to stay and listen. The front door is locked again and Mikey is suddenly gripped by a deep sense of hopelessness. Space is huge and _The Fall Out_ is small. He doesn’t know where Alicia is or even where to start looking.

He retreats to his room and sleeps fitfully, waking often in the night expecting to hear the deep clanking of _The Fall Out_ but only ever hearing the quiet hooting of jungle monkeys.

**& &&**

Mikey wakes with a start, sitting up quickly. He feels the back of his neck prickle, like he’s being watched, and he looks around widely, still half asleep, before his eyes finally settle on Gerard, leaning against the door frame.

A long pauses stretches out between them, Gerard obviously thinking something over. Mikey examines his hands.

“Do you really love her?” Gerard asks finally. Mikey looks up quickly, not needing to ask who he means.

“Of course!” He says. “Alicia’s the best woman in the whole system. She keeps the _Fall Out_ in the air with next to nothing, she speaks three goddamn languages, she’s kind and beautiful and passionate and I love her, Gerard. Nothing fancy or great, I just love her.”

Mikey folds his hands over one another on top of his blankets and looks down at them, nearly defeated. If Gerard can’t understand, then maybe no one can.

Suddenly, Gerard takes a few steps across the room and sits down on the bed, putting his hand in one of Mikey’s and squeezing gently.

“I always wanted a sister,” He says nervously. He pauses, as if trying to find the right words. “It sounds like Alicia is a sister-in-law I would be proud to have in my family.”

Mikey looks up, feeling hope return.

“Really? You think that?” He says. Gerard smiles carefully.

“I think, maybe, you’ve found something you love and I wouldn’t be much of a brother is I took that away from you,” Gerard says, obviously pained. “I want to help you, if you’d let me.”

 

 

**Chapter Eight:**

_“I, Michael James Way, renounce my inherited status as a member of the hekima caste. I willingly concede my inheritance to my elder brother and forego inheritance through the paternal line by my progeny or following descendents. I lay no claim to the hekima protected professions and forego all extraordinary treatment afforded to me by the state as hekima. I do so willingly and under my own power.”_

_From the official transcript of M. Way vs. The Home Courts._

The court room is cold. Gerard came with him, sits beside him, but Mikey still feels alone when he rises to his feet.

“Mr. Way, I understand you have a petition for the court?” The judge asks. She’s fucking intimidating. Mikey nods, swallowing heavily.

“Yes, your honour. I would like to petition the court to demote my official caste status.”

Someone gasps loudly and everyone in the room turns to the nearest person and starts talking, whispering, in surprise. Plenty of people want a higher caste but no one wants to be demoted. No one but Mikey.

“Mr. Way, did I here you correctly? You wish to be demoted from the position of hekima?” The judge asks, when the court quiets.

“Yes, your honour.” Mikey nods. “My petition is to be demoted to the level of maquina.”

The silence of the court room is almost palatable and the judge seems to be attempting to find words.

“What caused this, Mr. Way?” She asks, curiously.

Mikey smiles sadly.

“I love a maquina, your honour. As long as I’m hekima, our marriage is illegal. I would like to give her an honest life, if I can.” He spreads his hands in front of him, the universal symbol for ‘please’.

“Mr. Way, are you under duress at all? Any pressure to ask for this petition? Please understand, if you are in danger, the court can protect you,” says the judge.

Mikey shakes his head.

“No, you honour. I’m not being forced. I want this. I would like to make a formal petition to renounce my inherited status as a member of the hekima caste. I will concede my inheritance to my brother and forego inheritance for my descendents.” Mikey tries to stand taller and squares his shoulders. “Your honour, I don’t make this decision hastily. I will not regret it.” He meets the judge’s eyes, trying to communicate how desperate he is. He needs this to work.

The judge pauses obviously.

“Well, Mr. Way, I will have to consult on this matter and it may take some time but I am quite secure in the belief that it is not without my remit to allow a man, under no duress and of his own free will, to renounce his caste and take on a lower one. If you are willing to wait, you will be issued with new papers, indicating your change in caste, but only if you are willing to state under oath that you accept the demotion. Will you accept, Mr. Way?”

  
Mikey smiles, a great smile that splits across his whole face.

“Yes, your honour. I accept.”

**& &&**

Six weeks later, Mikey receives his new papers that read “Michael Way – las maquinas”. Gerard helps him pack a bag and gives him money to buy things like comm headphones and a specialised band reader.

Mikey signs onto _The Mockingbird_ , a freighter needing a comm rig operator and heading to the outer planets. He waits in anticipation for their take-off date. He buys jewellery that he thinks Alicia will like and books for Pete and sheet music for Patrick. He’s never felt more optimistic in his life, even when aboard _The Fall Out_.

On take-off day, the Brasilia spacedocks are practically deserted, with only _The Mockingbird_ and a few small planet hoppers occupying docking space.

Gerard comes to see him off. Mikey doesn’t ever think things will ever completely heal between them; a rift has developed that Mikey doesn’t quite know how to heal. They both promise to write and Mikey intends to keep that promise. Blood is blood and Gerard, for all their childhood closeness has nearly been killed off, deserves to have a little brother for a little while longer.

Mikey has his ship to find. Somewhere, in deep space, _The Fall Out_ and his new family and wife is waiting for him.

 

 

 

 _Epilogue_ :

Once upon a time, there was a star. It was a bright sun and it gave light to the planets that circled it. On one of these orbiting planets lived our ancestors. They were given life by the sunlight and many of them worshiped its power. For millennia, our ancestors lived, worked and loved on this planet, protected by its unique atmosphere and nourished by its sun.

Until, only a few centuries ago, that sun went dark. The sun that had given life to generations of our kind began to die and the world it had helped to create shrivelled, deprived of the light that fuelled it. Our ancestors, unaware of the worlds outside their own, nevertheless took it upon themselves to save their race and to find new home in the cosmos. They were a brave and honourable people and, using the vast resources at their disposal, they saved the billions of lives at stake on Earth, the birthplace of humanity. And so, our people took to the stars.

For a hundred years, our people wandered in the blackness of space. World after world presented itself but none was suitable for the hundreds of warring factions humanity had become. Three generations passed and the human memory of Earth died a quiet death, alone in the emptiness of the universe.

And so, The wise men of our people came together, wishing to bring hope to humanity’s search for a new home. For forty nights and forty days, our wise men sought in vain for a solution.

But, after forty days of despair, the greatest minds of our ancestors looked out into the stars and found hope. A system of worlds, all capable of sustaining life and nourished by twin suns, both young enough that it would be millennia before they too turned dark, lay within their grasp.

Because of these minds, our race was saved and The Home System settled by human beings. For centuries, our people have lived, worked and loved in this system, and thanks to the wisest and greatest men and women of our ancestors, we have all lived happily ever after.

 

_Fin._

(Michael Way and Alicia Simmons married again, this time as equals.)

**Author's Note:**

> I had, again, two fantastic betas who helped me every step of the way. Thank you [misprinify](http://misprintify.livejournal.com/) and [moony_journal](http://moony-journal.livejournal.com/) who were fantastic right up the end.
> 
> My amazing thanks and awe goes to [delphinapterus](http://delphinapterus.livejournal.com/), my mixer, who made an lovely, interesting and thoughtful mix which I've been listening to non-stop ever since I got it.
> 
> Also, massive massive thanks go out to the bandombigbang mods who were very patient and kind even when I lost my internet and turned in my final draft five days late. Thank you!


End file.
